Skip to main content

Full text of "Wordeater"

See other formats

MOTEi Thm® ptreistent moans and frequent 

soreaous heard in the vicinity of the ¥OHBEATM\ 
office this semester have "been caused, by 
mimeograph monstrosities of such gargantuan 
proportion® that, for the first time in 
thirteen years, WGEOEAfER has failed to 
publish on -time. Consequently* this issue ie 
numbered 5j3~5Ui siui represents the laat two 
issue© for 1985' « 

53 BTiWi Jim Bc?hiijsg' ? Judy Balfieid, Lindeey 
Bianohij Shelbia Chandler, Judy Lake, 
Robin McWiliiasas J John Stobart 

R Sk S^H!Fi Jim Behling, Judy Belfield, Shelbda 

Chandler 9 Jerry Keir, Judy La&© s Bobin 
MeWilliaras, John Stcbari 

To get a submission printed In issue 53 or 5U» four of the 
seven people on the staff had to vote for acceptance. For 

the award winner®, only John Btobaxt is r©fsp©ngible s 

All copyrights are retained 
by the authors? , and material 
may not b& reprinted without 
their permission. 

Manuscript* or cover designs 
for WOKDEATER 5f> must be 
submitted to John Stobert , 
in room C-1069 by 8 

February 21, 1986* 

Manuscripts will net be 
returned and SHOULD BE 


February 21, 1986 
April 18, I986 

Table of Contents 

Kevin Duncan 
Judy Belfield 
Terry Rogers 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Judy Belfield 
Kevin Duncan 
Donna Shibovich 
Judy Belfield 
Kevin Duncan 
■tfudy Belfield 
Lindsey Biaachi 
Judy Belfield 
W. A. Kahle 
Judy Belfield 
Dawn Christman 
Jennifer Stipan 
Kevin Duncan 
Judy Lake 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Judy Belfield 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Judy Belfield 
Judy Belfield 
Larry McKay 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Dawn Christman 
Judy Belfield 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Judy Belfield 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Eric Rojo 
W. A. Kahle 
Judy Belfield 
Larry McKay , 
Judy Lake 
Mike Tr oyer .. '. 
Mike Troyer 

Lindsey Bianchi 
Jenny Stipan 
Judy Belfield 
-Judy Belfield 
Jerry Keir 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Terry Rogers- •■ 
Lindsey Bianchi 
Luther Brown 
Judy Belfield 
Jerry Keir 
Judy Belfield 
Donna Shibovich 
Jerry Keir 
Jerry Keir 
Jerry Keir 
Judy Belfield 
Jerry Keir 
Terry Rogers 
Shelbia Chandler 
Judy Belfield 
Jerry Keir 
Judy Belfield 
Terry Rogers 
Sandy Curtis 
Kevin Duncan 
Jerry Keir 
Donna Shibovich 
Judy Belfield 
Jerry Keir 
Jerry Keir 


Sir Gum Ball 

Bubblegum Days 

Chocolate Ice Cream. . 

History. . . 

eenvee. . . . 

Memories. . 

Stripped. . 

Neglect . . . 

Change .... 

Icebound. . 

Poe Zest . . 


Torched . . 

Pablo's Guernic a ^i,!. . . 

Red and Black Dresses 

She Is Immaculate.... 

I Own Two Grandmas . . . 
Quo Vadis , Baby. ..... 

Urban Lullabye ....... 

, Atlas Puked .'..,.:...;• i 
A Jungle End .................... 

Ode To A TV Junkie. , 

My Acceptance- Speech *...,-.. 

Light s Out ..•«..««....««•»«.»... 

i"i.XX JTiOXXOwS*. ..ft... c*.e 

Dave Vs Grave 

Exhumation ................ %$ * . . . 

• Gergonky Situations. , 

J2jV S.JL X/ €*€?&£? • «aw«*»ft«»4«»«a«*$*e«tf 

Guilt Screams ................... 

Confession. ..................... 

A Baseball Fan*s View. ..«••.,•..«. 
Teacher ' s Conference. ........... 

.Pondering Insomnia I... ......... . 

Pondering Insomnia 11* ........... 


Spare Me the Nose. . « » , 

Moonmarked. ....... ,..« ........ . . : . 

Footprints In the Threshold of 
I'll Burn That Bridge. ........ 

• La Voyage De La Musi que 

The Grand -Design. ............. 

illv X-3T X v \SX & • e ess * * «««»« •« (•"*»•• 

■ ' Noctivigation. .....'..'.'.. .'.V. . . 

The Steam of Consciousness 
Memorabilia. .... ... . .......'. 

Brainwave : Goodbye ..... 

A Fly In My Dream Soup . . 

In The Mourning. 

Audio-Visual Intercourse 


Unapprehended Inspiration. 
Be My Shadow. ............ 

Black Or Me ............ . 


I'm An Addict of Sorts.. 


Cinematic Demise. ....... 

The Unprepared Student's 


In The Park 

Listening to Them, ...... 


A Typo Error in the Wall Street 
Laugh Tracks 

Prayer . 








... 1.2 
,; .1;U 


... ..16 
... v . 18 

..... l8 

... « < JLO 



• ■ • < • £--i. 

* • • • • CmJL 

m • • ' « • cL(Z. 

. . L ,22 
'. j 1 •„' . 22 

» * t. u q t— . £Z. 
■•-«;..:. 22 

...-. .23 

.».•... 23 
. ... .26 
. . ,2b 

. . o C- | 


« * c • 

Kevin Duncan 

Judy Belfield 



Such dignity, 

Such grace you hava sitting in 

thr.t "big glass "bubble. 

Royalty for a penny. 

Blues, reds, yellows, and whites exalt 

your appearance. 

Your individuality compliments your sweet 

sweet taste-. 

Such class, 

such distinction that appeals to many. 

Children cry for you, 

others die for you. 

I am not as common as you 

might think, your Highness. 

You don't deceive me. 

To me, you're not so attractive! 

Today, I crown licorice 

my Kind. 

She dreamed of bubblegum days 

when the summer was alive 

with hopscotch patterns 

and blue popsicles; 

of sugar 

and soft tar 

she prodded with a sandaled toe. 

She remembered when tomorrow 

was so far away 

it ached to think of it; 

when everything was colossal 

except her rocking chair 

invisible fairies 

and a stray kitten 

she couldn't keep. 

She thought how it might he 

to return to the time 

when all things were nossihle 

including long nights 

and darkness crowded with monsters, 

Lindsey Bianchi 


Terry Rogers 



We were right all along 

We were young (and they knew) 

They had decided long ago 

What to do 

We hid in the branches of the trees 

We crawled through the bushes on our knees 

And the neighbor children too 

We're just like me and you 

Til the day 

When they showed us where to stay 

Now you've tried to be a girl 

For thirty years in this world 

All grown up (no excuse) 

Not anymore 

Not nowadays 

Ciiildhood dreams and silly games 

Can't remain, cannot explain 

How the young fade away 

How the old come to stay 

With their regimented lives 

With their husbands and their wives 

Playing bridge 

Playing games 

With unmentionable names 

Games that never can be won 

By a daughter or a son 

Who in th:- end must acquiesce 

To all that which pre-exists 

In this world of growing up 

And proving ° c ' 



Look at me! 

He spoke, and you will listen. 

He will speak, and you heard. 

Tell me where I stand. 

But will you look? 

Look at me? 

I'm here and you will see. 

I will he here and you saw. 

Look at me! 


Judy Belfield 


i hate e e cummings 
for mudluscious 

and puddlewonderful 
and i hate 

John Cheever 

he knew 





Kevin Duncan 

Donna Sliibovich 


Tears on ay tongue, 

I taste the night. 

When she left 

broken bottles — 

Lying next to my heart. 

Shattered — 

Pieces cut ay eyes. 

She walked out — 

With ay sharp razor. 

No blades — 

just blood. 

Crimson stains — 

On my scalp. 

Salty tears — 

The smell of death. 

Snakes slither by — 


Worms stare at me, 

They know. 


Judy Belfield 


Kamikaze pilot 

in his last seconds 


a rising sun flaring 

in his eyes 

like the sudden groundf lash 

of a bomb 

No time to recount, recall 

a short life 

conceived and nourished 

for this moment — 

the obliteration of insignificance 

in the cause of glory 

greater than any self 

grander than any 


identity . . . 

greater love than this — 

and we wear no armbands 
remember no names. 

Judy Belfield 


Frozen madonna 
ice-limbed and stiff 
stares down 

at her milkless breast 
without regret 
cradles only herself 
and never wonders 
about touch; 
her heart a chipped cup 
cold and empty 
ignores promises — 
too many were made 
one autumn 
before the frost. 



naked and dancing 

around and around 

in a hurried frenzy 

Nothing to remove 


what there is to gain 

The critical spectators 

how they can seei 

Gawking, snickering 

staring at me. 

Have I forgotten how 

to cover up? 

More judgments 

more hatred 

almost too real to be 

in a place where such exposure 

is condemned 

Bluntly protruding 

inescapable, agonizing 

my existence 

a trapped, wandering mind 

in a body 

that dances to dizziness. 

Kevin Duncan 


An alteration on pants, 
I notice 

A substitution; new Coke — 
Margarine for butter 1 
Why a different shirt? 
New friends, 
An adjustment on a TV — 

Painting the kitchen black, of course 

A different route to school 

A quarter, a dime, a nickel, a franc, 
Winter to spring 
A new opinion, 
An individual, 
Perfection, perchance 
Of course, change is necessary. 



■KKX K XXfrfr 

! Lo&Mg Blaaoifcl 

Ac Zc*"T 


Mr. ftllMtut- 

CM" «vi i»4t% 

SA44. S^efe 
Broke* b*cfc. 

Centaur 'Hak «*t 


btctitoc Kwe*s 
Cvvciblt. |«*« 


Judy Belfield 

W. A. Kahle 



A smile at the end 

of a long staircase 

descended three steps at a time 

a twelve-y ear-old 

in thick black curls 

and midnight almond eyes 

reconsiders her position 

fingering a white newel post — 

a juncture between 

girl and woman 

here in a terrazzo entrywayj 

beyond, a double door leads 

to the street 

a ragged thoroughfare 

laced with Dickens' squalor 

and the smell of Offal Court . . 

she cannot know 

the lure the gypsies heed 

in late spring 

when white moths 

singe their wings with light 

and still move on. 

Judy Belfield 

Thousand-acre forests 

photosynthesis rich, 

are trying to get older 

by dealing with mat chs ticks. 

Towering havens of beauty 

life's most graphic prize 

creek, sway, and whistle 

letting haze to pass tlirough 

those black, charred limbs . . . 

incinerated alive — 

introduced to agony 

at age two-hundred — 

like mother or father . . . 

siblings scream. 

Sap boiling thick 

remembrances in horror at the 

memory of Washington's extractions 

maple juice taken here, circa 


Having to succeed 

for so long' an age, 

centuries concentrate — 

in one dead second 

of a match struck with apathy — 

its doer -lind to note his elders, 

to cremate ... to torch 

Father's nursing- home. 



She listens 

to Pablo's wailing woman 

an abstract madonna 

with a prominent nose 

smelling death in her arms 

as insanity drops like bombs 

on the Spanish hamlet 

seeps into the ".ochre dust 

of summer-dried earth 

burned black and white 

in Pablo's imagination 

and given to us 

with a grand gesture of hopes 

a peace dove. 

She listens desperately 

for its coo 

hears instead a shriek 

decides it isn't Pablo's fault 

he didn't know 


Jennifer Stipan 

A tinkle, 
A jingle, 

tankle, a kind of a ring 

jangle, a pong, and a ping 
A snap, and a tap, and off we go, 
The rhythm and beat are starting to flow. 
One, two, three, one, two, three, pong, 

pong, jangle, tink. 

This is the beginning of a 

I think. 

Dawn Christman 


Red and black dresses svrim through 

The waves of neon lights 

In the Brazilian disco. 

Whores, murmuring lulls of persuasion into 

the pink, fuzzy ears of American men 

teasingly touch masculine skin that is 

hot as chili. 

Santana blasts out in multi-decibels 

over the sound system, making the 

red and black dresses swim faster. 

Pet monkeys climb onto the bar and 

help themselves to sangria. 

In the midst of the fury, she sits alone, 

in her red and black dress. 

People amongst her, floating above the 

sea of cotton prints. 

Her dense, blue-black hair vraiting to 

fly from the force of a dip. 

Tan, taut skin clings to her bones 

as she makes her way onto the dance floor. 

Swirling round and round on the fiberglass 

floor, she begins to drown amidst the 

black and red dresses. 

Licensed freedom walks up to her 

touches the bare creamy skin on her shoulder 

exposing' tan lines as shocking as a boiling 

black stew. 
She falls into freedom's arms, undistracted 

a crash, and a chord, and the running of feet, by the loud beat of the band. 
Pardon me please, will you speak with the beat? And becomes one with him. 
What was that? Oh. No, really I'm fine. 
Yes, I composed thisi This song is mine! 

SC'X X X'XK R-& 


Kevin Duncan 

Lindsey Bianchi 




All ragged and beaten. 
But she loved— 
She is immaculate. 
Hover the same they say 
After "it" happens. 
Her clothes torn, 
Tears streaming from her eyes 
She smiles- — 
She is immaculate. 
"Forgiven," she says, "Forgiven" 
How can she say that'; ' ' 
1 don't know. 
She ' is immaculate. 
I know :she hurts, she won't admit. 
Even new she hides those tears, 
She is dry now. 
She is immaculate. 
She perceives that I care. 
God, why her? 
She is immaculate. 

Three years later, I still seek him. 
Death is upon him. 
"When I find him, he will know- 
She is immaculate. 

July Lake 


I won two grandmas. Grandma Lacey is my 
daddy's mom and Grandma Dot tie is my mommy? s 

Sometimes my grandmas act a lot alike. 
Sometimes they act different. 

Both my grandmas talk funny. Grandma 
Lacey sometimes talks baby-talk. "Does my 
Poopsi©-¥oopsie wanna cookio-wookie:" Grandma 
J>?,oey askp as she pinches my cheeks. She 
makes me giggle when she talks like that. 

Grandma Dottie uses old fashioned words 
for new-fashioned things. She always calls 
ray blue jeans "britches." And she says her 
purse is her "pocketbook." She makes me gig- 
gly when she talks like that. 

Both my grandmas sometimes let me sleep 
overnight. I get to deep in a room all by 
myself when I stay at Grandma Lacey' s. "This 
room u^cd to belong to your daddy," she always 
says when r>he "bucks me in.. Then she tells me 
stories about daddy when he was a little boy. 
I think that's when she knew him best. Grand- 
ma Laoey always makes bedtime fun. 

V/lion I stay with Grandma Dottie, I get 
• o sleep en the couch. She always makes a 
big bowl of popcorn and lets me stay up late. 
She lets me use the remote-control switch for 
her television. And she never yells if I 

nge channels too fast. Grandma Dottie 
always makes bedtime fun., 

Both my grandmas have a hobby. Grandma 
Lacey likes to work in her garden. She says 
it relaxes her. Grandma always lets me help 
• : r relax in her garden. I chose pumpkin 

( continued ) 

Her name was Dixie Bell for God's sakei 
Sounds like a friggin' riverboati But her 
name didn't make any difference to me. She 
was a girl, a female, an opposite sex. 
That was the main thing. 

I was a freshman at Illinois State Uni- 
versity, virtually free to "be", 5 except on 
alternate weekends when I was carted home to 
Pekin by my "chauffer," ray Dad. I was study- 
ing to be u oominercial artist. Actually, 
studying isn't the right word. Pretending 
was more like it. I had plenty more impor- 
tant things to learn in college besides art 
history, anthropology, and chemistry. 

Chemistry. That's where I met Dixie. 
She was sitting across the aisle from me in 
this giant, reverberating lecture hall. The 
teacher, Mr. Glockenspiel, was scribbling 
some foxier las on the board while he bounced 
comments back at lis over Ms shoulder. 
Aware of ray new college status, I got brave 
and gave Miss Bell my best classroom line 
out of the side of my mouth. 

;, Whaddid he say?" I mumbled. 

"I dunno," she said, tlirowing me a se- 
cond by actually replying. I bounoed back 
-uickly mesmerizing her with my superior wit. 

"lie talks like a Nazi," I hissed. 

"Ee lookc like one," she added. We both 
giggled silently to each other like grade- 
schoolers. All the time I was stealing 
looks at her while pretending to take notes. 
I was falling in love with her deep brown 
eyes ; her shiny, auburn hair that fell across 
her shoulders 5 her casual way of dressing 
with a touch of femininity J lii 
and a. billowy blouse. 

I imagined us eating together in the 
cafeteria, fondly feeding each other potato 
chips, I saw under a tree in tbe Quad, 
wrapped in our studies. I nearly had us mar- 
ried and expecting, zxi.6. I didn ? t even know 
her name . „ . yete 

The bell ~?3ac; and I followed her out 
of the building through a cea of students. 
I finally caught up with her by some pre- 
imagined treer?. "HeyV 41 - said lamely. 

"Oh, hi!" she Said turnin.-y' around. 

"That guy's the worsts" My redundancy 
was beginning to show. She laughed and said s 
"I know! This is the most boring class I've 
had so far." 

"Gee, thanks," I belted, following her 
down the walk like a forlorn puppy. 

"Oh, sorry," she answered sweetly, "I 
didn't mean you." 

"I know, I way just being weird," I 

Hot sure how to take such a remark, she 
just said, "oh." 

"Eeyi Yon're walking the same direction 
. as me!" I suddenly discovered. "Where ya 

"I live at Atkin-Colby." I couldn't 
believe it! We were practically neighbors! 

"I Uve at Walker Ealll" I shrieked, 
unable to contain my glee. 


J.... /C'l-in jeans 

.i — 

I Own Two Grandmas, c«ntinuetl 

s^edfl and gave Grandma the biggest one 
f»r Halloween. I halped her turn it into 
a jack-c—lantern. Grandma Lacey said I 
was the best gardener in the whole world. 
Grandma Dottie likes to paint. She 
says it relaxes her. Grandma always lets 
mo paint too. Once, I painted a picture 
of me and Grandma taking a walk. After it 
dried, she framed it and hung it on her 
dining room wall. How, when people eat at 
Grandma's, they can always see my painting. 
Grandma Dottie said I was the best painter 
in the whole world. 

Both my grandmas make me feel special 
in different and alike ways. I think I 
own the best grandmas in the whole world; 

Cuo Yadis, Baby, continued 

"I've heard about that place," she 
said as we merged int» the mainstream of 
students , 

"Me too ... I hate it!" The pedes- 
trian traffic was drawing us closer togeth- 
er. "I've stayed away almost every evening 
since I've been here. They've got this 
initiation thing goin' on." 

"That's so dumb," Dixie decreed. 
"Yeah . . . they penned the guys next 
t* me into their room so they couldn't 
i-rfc out. Then they called them on the 
phone and left the receiver off thier end 
so the fools couldn't call out anywhere." 

"why didn't the M.A. do something." 
she was asking as we came to the parting 
of our ways. 

,! Ch, he's in on it too," I told her 
with a look of disgust. 

"Well, good luck," she said, begin- 
ning to turn. 

"Thanks," I said, stopping at the 
corner. "If you don't see me in class, 
you'll know they got to me." She tossed 
a smile my way, waved her hand, and yelled, 
"Bye." She ran across the street and 
disappeared into the revolving doors of her 
dormitory lobby. 

I dropped my books in my room and 
headed up tfi the next floor to see if my 
new friend, Ken, was ready to eat lunch. 
He was at his desk already busy with home- 
work. His roommate was there too. Jim 
E-ixa&gr^ a st»cky dag» from the south side 
•f Chicago, had c#me down to ISTJ to study 
women in particular. He had "playboy" 
written all over him from his half-button- 
ed shirts to his pinkie rings, to his 
wide-brimmed hats. 

"Are you doing your homework now':" I 
asked, trying to seem semi-cool in front 
of Pirazzo, whose streetwise attitude made 
this small-town boy feel like the kid he 
was. "It's lunchtime." 

"Hey, Mister!" Ken said following my 
load, "I wanna stay »n top of things." 

"Better buy a new wardrobe then.," 
came a cutting remark from Pirazzo 's side 
of the room. He was Ijriung on his bed in 

his Jockey shorts and toweling his 
curly hair dry. He let out a clasr ' o 
Italian giggle and grabbed his toe- 
nail clippers off the back of the bol- 
ster. "Run along now, kids," he add- 
ed trying to be funny. 

"Yes, Mommy," Ken whispered as we 
left. In the stairwell, we bo 4 let 
out a big guffaw and raced for J_e 
cafeteria. Ken was a real scuare guy, 
but g»od-natured and funny in a corny 
sjrt of way. He dressed 'conservative- 
ly! a buttoned-down shirt, clean iuk 
jeans and white Adidas. He was any- 
thing but flashy. 

I met this girl in chemistry 
class," I told him when we got to 
a table. 

"All right!" he said opening 
his milks. 

"She's super-cute!" I added with 

"Decent!" Ken replied with his 
usual brevity. 

She lives in Atkin-Colby, and her 
name's . . . oh, wow! I forgot to ask 
what her name was I " 

"That . . . might help," came 
his barb between bites. 

"Real funny," I said as I situa- 
ted my food in front of me. "I'll 
ask her '.Thursday . , but, anyway," 
I went on, "she's super-cute." 

Ken looked at me and rolled his 
eyes. "I heard.," he said. 

Thursday, I found out her .: je 
was Dixie Bell. ''Oh, well, ; I told 
myself. "She's super-cute." 

It wasn't long before I was tell- 
ing everyone about her. I told my room- 
mate, who tried to act interested. ' 
knew when I had seen his name the 
first time, he was going to be one dull 
guy. John Oiler. He was an "ag" 
major and he had a girlfriend whom I 

laughingly referred to as "the 

"John's having the horse over to- 
night. You wanna go see a movie - 
I was talking to Dave Widby, and old 
friend from my hometown who was alsr 
going to ISU. He lived up above ms 
in another box cf a room. He had been 
popular since grade school and our 
friendship had waned until we found our- 
selves in Normal together. 

"Oh, well, can't dance," he 
said apathetically. He was always 
saying, "can't dance." It was his 
thing. Supposedly, it meant, "I 
might as well, since there's nothing 
else to do." 

An hour later, I met him in the 
lobby where the drone of the tej M-- 
sion and the click of pool balls /ore 
forever being combined. Ve wall^c out- 
side into the orange evening air and 
headed down Main Street. 
» • • ■ 
( continued 

uo Yadis, Baby, continued 

Across our cooped~up campus , fall was 
sotting in. It wouldn't be long before the 
streaking era' e broke and full-frontal 
nudity would become the latest fashion. 
Meanwhile, up the road at the local thea- 
ter, a new X-a?ated film was playing. It 
was a ftreign film, complete with sub- 
titles and unpronounceable* credits. Last 
Tango In Paris , starring Marlon Brando 
and Maria Schneider was about to be dropped 
in my lap. 

I had heard all about it in my film 
arts class another one of my "rinky-dink" 
courses, like painting 1, which my father 
compared to "basket-weaving and sandbox." 
My fellow film buffs who had seen it were 
saying how controversial the subject mat- 
ter was. Others were calling it outright 
pornography. After that sentance, my curi- 
osity was aroused. 

We had only seen one film in the class 
so far; Fellini's La Strada . I could real- 
ly relate to the main character played by 
Anthony (^uinn. His name was Zampano, a 
second-rate strongman in a thir a -rate cir- 
cus. He reminded me a lot of my dad. But 
that film, as great as it was, was mild 
escapism compared to what I was about to 

Twfc hours later, I walked out into the 
comparatively boring streets of Normal, Il- 
linois with Dave. We hardly said a word to 
each other on the way back to the dorm. In 
one cinematic experience, my view of the 
world around me, the naivete I had brought 
with me from that small white community 
forty miles away, all prior experiences, vi- 
carious and otherwise, had been reduced to 
complete banality. 

The vagabond character whom Brando 
portrayed elicited from deep within me a 
hitherto unknown feeling of 'comraderie ' 
which I had never been able to define. The 
tawdriness of the settings, the brutal hon- 
esty of the language, the uncompromising 
sex scenes all spoke to me with a new 
truth'. And, being the easily influenced 
fellow I was then, I longed to be that char- 
acter, to be down and out and Brando in 

I went again to see it by myself the 
next evening — to live again within those 
frames within the camera's eye. It was that 
second night, when I was scrutinizing every 

After a lot of fumbling of pages, 
I ascertained that the r uestion. he 
was asking was, "Y/hither thou go est." 
or "Where are gou goi_ig' : '" Only he was 
saying it Brando-style. I wante^ 
that style in the worst way and I want- 
ed it overnight I 

I bought the soundtrack to the 
movie and played it incessantly. Gato 
3arbieri's sleazy sax solos echoed 
through the halls. But it was no sood 
trying to be cool alone. I decided it 
would be truly to ask Dixie to see 
Last Tang* with me. 

I announced to all who could ap- 
preciate my macho motivation that Dix 
ie and I had a date. After the jokes 
about her name subside 1 I reminded 
them that she was super-cute. She had 
accepted as if it was no big deal. I 
thought, 'That's cool.'' 

Ken played jealous for my amuse- 
ment. John Oiler sat unimpressed un- 
derneath his horse. Dave merely dug 
it. And Piraz o offered his room for 
me to make my moves in. He had own 
heavy ^rdate planned at an off- campus 
address. Gladly, he gave me his theo- 
ries on first dates, where to go, what 
to do, and when to do it. He agreed 
that LaBt Tango was a perfect beginning. 
It would set the mood. And then, after- 
wards, we could head back to his room 
for a little relaxation. He suggested 
I play the sound-. track of the film \ 
while we made out on the bed. The rest 
was up to me and my new-found charmm 

Perhaps it would have blossomed 
into something more mature had it not 
been for one more tip from Pirazno — a 
joint the size of my index finger! 
Since coming to that toun of learning, 
I had been introduced by certain ques- 
tionable acquaintances to that elu- 
sive subculture known as "potheads." 
I was told it would help my painting 
and I thought it would add to my 
sense of worldliness. So, when the 
hallocinogen was pointed in my face, I 
uickly deposited it in my shirt 

I didn't really need it by the 
time we got back to the room. My 
initial nervousness had left me sotn 
after the movie began. Dixie ac 'lally 

scene, that I caught the brief but immeasu- 

rab?_y hip remark that I ached to emit myself, liked the film. I was glad I had tin' 

It was near the end when Maria Schnei- fured the experience with a varied 
der finally decides she's going to leave 
Marlon. She heads for the door of the a- 
partcient and Brando comes casually walking 
out of the shadows and says, "<uo Vadis, 
Baby " And I thought, "How cool can you 
get:" I didn't have the slightest idea 
what it meant, but I knew it was cool; 

The next day I headed for the library 
to find a Latin dictionary. The reference 
room was packed with students — some with 
looks of panic on their faces, others blank- 
ly astute. I located the dictionary flec- 

tion, and found ray ^hnnmi tongue. 

degree of critical acclaim as we head- 
ed for the theater. Despite part ore 
of the "Great Date" going so well, \ 
immediately pulled the number from my 
pocket as Pirazzo's door slammed shu*. 

"You get high?" I asked, pretend= 
ing it wae the most normal question in 
the world. She looked at me a little 

"Urn . . .not really, but don't 
let dip stop you," she said. I thought, 
"Mox-e for me!" and fired the stogie up. 
I rtffex*ed her a beer from Jim's c?.. 


( continued) 

Quo Vadis, Baby, continued 

cooler in the closet, she sipped at it 
while I got myself one. The joint fell a- 
part about halfway through, but I had al- 
ready reached ray unnecessary nirvana. 

After a mammoth guzzle of brew, I made 
my way across her body. She obliged me for 
awhile until I turned into Marlon Brando. 
I didn't rip off her panties! I didn't ask 
her to get the butter! I just tried to put 
my hands down her pants. 

Without a word, she got up from under- 
neath me. I fell off the bed and reached 
\for my beer- She was at the door ready to 
leave 3 when she realized she had forgot- 
ten her purse. She went back to get it and 
I stumbled to the doorway, my arm reaching 
to block the exit and hold me up. 

"Quo vadis, Baby?" I said, feeling 
like a foreign film. 

'"What?" she asked, not under rid- 

"Where va goin'?" I whined in my 
midwestern accent. 

"I gotta go home," she said and 
knocked my arm out of the way. She was 
off down the hall before I knew it. Af- 
ter she left, I remembered I had for 
gotten to T>lay the sound-track. I 
blindly slipped the record on Pirazzo*s 
stereo and leaned back with what was left 
of both our beers- The sleepy sax 
poured into the room. > T o credits rolled 
by as I gazed blankl across the room. 
No shot panning out the window and into 
the trees. No re-introduction showing 
who plaved who. And underneath ray chin, 
there was no white-lettered transla- 
tion when I mumbled to myself, ; Oh 
well, can't dance. 


Lindsey Bianchi 

Judv Belfield 



Atlas Puked 
>Ayn ran 
For pen and reaper 
For everyman 

Eggs essential 
Viva le Sartre 
Writing el fresco 
Calling it art 

Itchy homo 
Nietzsche moustache 
Eitched and moaned 
Raked in the cash 

Tropical chancre 

r'lller decrees 

He says it best 

When he writes of diseas; 

x Eyeless and gaga 
Odious Hux 
J' iew all the angles 
Except for a duck's 



Judy Belfield 


For weeks he had been stalking, float- 
ing noiselessly in his single-passenger boat 
through the dense jungle foliage, gliding 
stealthily, slowly, on the still, green wa- 
ter. Day after day, he watched, quietly 
paddling his craft around one ess-curve af- 
t=±r another, POiu-Rxn^ shoadily ■fchi-ough the 


City winking at night 

steamy August 

black streets cooling to 82 

the day's heat rising in shimmers 

a dog barks in the distance 

next door, a radio turned low, 

breathes a soft sax sons'; 

the notes oil the darkness 

a sheen on 3 a.m. fire escanes 

a siren coming out of silence 

approaches, then turns away 

back into silence 

the squall of a baby 

two — no, three buildings off 

then sax a-ain 

my eyelids drop slowly 
noises blur, then stop; 
I dream of jungles 
and birds of paradise. 


immense leafy tunnel that choked the sun 
from the river. At times, he sto ned 
bankside, the boat halting abrupt „y 
against a lush growth of tall gr c 
a muffled thud. Then, he would 1 
intently to the incessant buzz 
jungle, the buzz of an infinite ._ 
insects. He would listen intently, 
straining to hear the one sound he antici- 
pated with such Dassion. Dav aft°r ay, 
the buzz began in a whisper, the:. ,;rew 
as the afternoon heat thickened. 

When he returned to camp each nigh J 
his eardrums threatened to exploie; 
the buzz roared round him as he lay 
waiting for sleep, then continued, its 

(continued ) 

3 with 
e^ the 
siber of 

A Jungle End. continued 

denfenin#vj*hythm in his dreams. 

If he didn't find one soon, he would 
go mad from the "buzzing, he vas sure, or 
if not the "buzzing, the humidity, 'the 
thick, sweet-salt humidity sucking out his 
^breath hour after hour, day after day. 

On the third day of the fourth week, he 
finally lieard it — a soft splash just 
ahead. Eis body stiffened; sweat gave a 
glistening sheen to his face and chest. He 
.waited. The buzz reached a crescendo. 
\Had "he imagined it? Was his mind playing 

He waited, rigid, barely breathing. 
Then, almost inaudibly, another 30ft splash 
lapped. He turned his head slowly in the 
direction of the splash and saw a trail of parting in a gentle swath. The swath 
quivered, then rinpled quietly back together 
again, leaving a blurred line shivering si- 
lently over the path of his prey. 

The hunter smiled, squelching his de- 
sire to scream for joy — a desire that raced 
""through all the nerves in his skin, a de- 
sire that grabbed his . stomach and squeezed 
it like a python wrapped around a piglet. 
He might have squealed, had he not the ex- 
perience behind him that automatically 
paralyzed the -oarts of his body he wouldn't 
need, while simultaneously alerting the 
parts he did need. Adrenolin, the quick- 
silver hormone, raced through his blood. 

If he were more relaxed, he would have 
thought, "Ah, after four weeks, success. 
Success!" But he wasn't relaxed. He 
seemed not to be thinking at all, merely 
reaching for his gun, s lowly \ quietly, 
Seising it to his shoulder, pulling back 
the firing hammer ever so gradually til it 
\caught with an almost noiseless click. His 
hand moved down the stock as tenderly as a 
-gloved museum hand caresses an Incan shard. 
His index finger locked in place on the trig- 
gt-i as he sighted down the barrel, slowly 
following the quivering line rippling across 
the river several yards in front of him. 
It wasn't jus t the money the horn 
would fetch, although the amount would be 
considerable, and he would certainly find 
"K^ys to spend it. But the money was a dis- 
tant end, not nearly as rewarding as the 
\hjyuit itself, not even faintly as exciting 
As this moment waiting his chance to 

\ In this jungle lived the rarest sr>ecies 
Of rhino; their numbers ahd dropped to less 
than two-hundred, although an accurate count 
could never be made because the animals were 
exceedingly secretive. It was not known 
whether or not the massive slaughter of 
their herds had driven them into hiding; what 
was known was that it took weeks, sometimes 
even months, just to spot one. 

He had spotted one now, and it was a 
m^re stone's throw away. 

He watched as the quivering line of wa- 
ter appiMtch. the shore. The tip of a 
horn ooksd through the river. The hunter's 


finger tensed on the trigger. Easy . . 
easy, he whispered to himself. C'mon 
out nice and slow, Baby, nice and 

First the head, then the shou? - 
ders raised up out of the water as ^he 
,. animal climbed the bank. Its front 
legs appeared, then the bulk of its mag- 
nificent-torso ■ It vas huge, but the 
hunter's elephant gun could dron it 
with one well-'nlaced shot. 
/ Completely out of the water now, 

the rhino paused for a moment and slow- 
lv swung its head around. The animal 
faced the hunter, locking eyes. A 
split second later, the hi nter fired. 
/The sound of the shot exploded through 
the jungle, followed by a sharp, ago- 
nizing squeal. A hit! 

The hunter ' s blood pounded in hi ■ 
temples. For a moment, the insect buzz 
had stopned and all he heard was the 
roar of a freight train in his ears. 
A moment of jungle silence, as every- 
thing alive stopped to observe tne sud- 
den passing of one of its own, w lie 
a dirge throbbed quick-tempo through 
the hunter's bloodstream. 

The rhino, still starine- at the 
hunter, stood unmoving for a second, 
a second that seemed an eternity. 
XThen, trembling, its legs buckled, and 
it crashed to the ground. 

As its body met the jungle floor, 
armor -plated skin fell away like the 

shell of a great cracked egg from which 
an ancient pteradactyl fledg ling were 
about to emerge. Instead of a bird, 
though, a single-horned white stallion 
horse struggled free, then raised up 
on its hind legs and snorted into the 

The hunter's eyes bulged wid-- 3 as 
his gun fell clattering 
into the boat, tripped, and fired a 
round directlv into his skull. 

The unicorn snorted again, then 
galloped into the jungle. The buzz 
of insects roared. 

Judy Bel field 


Popcorn man stepclimbing aisles 

between bleachers of summer 

baseball cap askew 

and grinning through a stubbl^d ch'n 

raspy-voiced as a tramp in the mo ' Ing 

his hazel eyes sun-shot 

refracting Julv 

For a second, cheers drown the s*t dium" 

and the popcorn man is lost 

like a cause in a close of anat'\ — 

he dreams he's smacked the winning-run 

in a tie ^ame of the Series; 

the dream confirmed 

as the fans reseat themselves 

and the hawker, still stvanidng, 

. •* lrtim.-indfl i ''Fb pxrara / " 




Larry McKay 

Lindsev Bianchi 



Oh, I have to work today, 
What am I to do? 
Ev:*fy's leaving Biff again, 
Today on Channel 2. 

Please, boss, please have a heart 
Let me off tonight. 
The Bears are visiting Miami, 
It's football Monday night. 

Another thing, if I may ask, 
Nov don't be mad at me: 
-There's a movie on tomorrow night 
I'd reallv love to see. 

Also, coming Thursday night 
I think on Channel 9 3 
Thev're showing classic reruns of 
VEhe great show, "What's My Line?" 

And then there's just one more thing. 
I ^eed the weekend o£f . 
I plan on watching all four rounds 
Of ladies' championship golf. 

What do vou mean, I'm fired? 

Weil, that's okay, I guess. 

The World Series comes on in a couple of 

weeks , 
It will give me tim^ to rest. 

Dawn Christman 


Lights out — everyone is going to bed 
They all say their bon-nuits 
Dashing up the squeaky stairs, their 
mumbles and hot lust glide down 
the bannister through the darkness. 
The door closes and all is quiet. 
Drif ing into the stage where 
nothingness is pleasant, invasion 
of sound punctuates my ear. The 
bed above screams shrill notes from 
the pounding force of two entangled 

Minutes later, the meticulous 
squeaks slow down, and finally cease. 
All is at peace in the quiet darkness 
I wonder, before letting nothingness 
overtake me, if it was just a dream. 


-*-»*% ■*#*•» 

Judy Bel field 



My heart wore a mask 
from the beginning — 
a. facade to hide 

When I finally go to heaven 

I'll get an Academy Award. 

I'll step up to the podium and r. 

Oscar down. 
I'll look out towards the multit 

all clappinf 
their hands. 
Then I'll wait til there's a silence 

and speak to all ray 
fans . 
"I'd like to thank my Mom and Dad for 

trying to raise me right. 
I'd like to thank my many lovers for 

getting me through the night. 
I'd like to thank that slew of siblings 

for sharing -puberty. 
I'd like to thank my influential 

friends for liberty. 
I'd like to thank the set designers 

for their neverending taste. 
I'd like to thank the Naw for the time 

they made me waste. 
I'd like to thank the screenplay writers 

for churning out the lines, 
I'd like to thank my gurus for showing 

me the signs. 
I ; d like to thank the make-up artists 

for cleaning up my zits. 
I'd like to thank the stuntmen who 

fell into the pits. 
I'd like to thank the special-ef "ects 

crew when I dropped windowp-:ne. 
I'd like to thank my analysts for 

cleaning up my brain. 
''A special thanks to Lisa , my em.b onic 

Now that I am dead and scone, I truly 

wish her well. 
And also thanks to Gina for geing such 

a brat. 
I bet she gets a best supporting act- 
ress award for that. 
And thanks to all the little people 

in my enic life. 
And I would like to thank you. 

but I dichrt have a wife. 
I think I have talked long enough, 

but one thing you must know, 
I bet you didn't realize you. were 

extras in my show I" 

the emptiness behind* 
a jack-o-lantern face 
sharply cut and angular 
a ludicrous smile- 
now three weeks on the front por v 
the eyes and mouth 
softly collapsed 
toward gutless insides 
where the wax of several cane" c 
each a different color 
pools cold and hard 
at the bottom — 
turning to mush, waiting 
for hooligans to grab it up 
and splatter in the street. 




Ofctfefc <**«, 

Lindsay Bianchi 

jW w^f Km 44 VwA **4* 
Pelt swIW M- *« sim 

I sf*k ®f «gHgn *e He 
•.Wit w4k fotne *ery s!m» 

Am *»*N &£ «* 4*ra* 

Well b«efe mp mk. fee b«wt 

Well Ivu <h» s#e *e*> 

AU ta^ff »*«**" *•" &**** 1*^fe- 

A*4 uselt heW^fiil -G* -Hie 4* 


Judy Belfield 


S©e how I betray you 
spilling you on paper 
for everyone to see- 
worse, to Judge. 

All those years you spent burrowing 
piling earth over your secrets — 
so meticulous, my dear, 
so thorough— 
are for r ught; 

OI K K K KXl l 

in a few short days 

I have scooped away 

the camouflage, the soil, 

have uncovered your bones 

and set them out to bleach. 

Yes, I betray you 

but not for silver . . . 

I need to breathe. 


Lindsey Blanch! 

Gsr^oAkv Si+viA«H«^s 

AmA All u**» «fe is /v^* 

<^w!^uAM«M*k! /*$C 

Till X Ws£ mv UI,U M-A 

Sgrwric, mill W jUr 4<*m*M rn 

Aa x'H -rtcoy 4fet best x «An f 
Vfcat4 kill A wrmAl Urn! Al \/ 



They competed for this 
bitter, Ever since, J 
Hot too long ago, 
had once "been a thief* 
with stolen money, J. 


Erie I05© 

Scott Wiaslow is sitting on -a sofa in his nicely 
foxnidhod penthonse* Srexsrthixig ia th® penthc= e i : 

©f high quality* And to top .it off, m has a 
paying job, Soott has enjoyed his expensive tast 
until now, Els! life has become a living s 2S3?e 
®\?®t since a bitter James Kurlow came bae] Into hi 

Soott and Janes um& to be beet frieac . soil 
fat© would have it, they both .fell in lev® with I ja© g: 
girl's affection, Scott came out the victor, lea Jmb&s 
me& has had on® main goal- — to get revenge, 
James discovered a terrible secret from Scott'. Sooi 
If that were not enough, everything Scott c tiat sea be 
has been losing this information to blaskasaii Sot fct« 



s Evil Deeds, continued 

Scott can't understand why James still 
holds a grudge. The girl of their affec- 
tion left Scott after finding about his be- 
ing a thief. Although Scott has a good- 
paying job, he can't afford both rent and 
blackmail payments. As a result, Scott 
is thumbing through the newspaper. A 
strange ad that reads, "Evil Deeds, you 
need a teriible deed accomplished call 
us," catches Scott's eye. 

Scott thinks to himself, "This has to 
be a joke, Only an idiot would put an ad 
like this in the paper?" Soon he realizes 
that if the ad is true, his problem could 
be solved. He . picks up the phone and 
dials the number under the ad. He has a 
brief conversation and writes down an ad- 

He drives his car to the address he 
wrote down. He walks up a flight of stairs 


before me?" 

Pointing to a door on his left , 
Stark says, "Mr. Barker went out the 
back way. All of my client?, leave 
the back way, once I am through with 
their case. Now, let's get down to 
business. Who do you want bump-: 

Startled by Mr. Stark's bl 
Scott says, "You sure get to th~ 
don't you?" 

"Well, that is what you are 
for, isn't it, Mr. Winslow?" say. 
fiendish Mr. Stark. 

"Why, yes," sa-"-s Scott with a 
slight '' chuckle. "Excuse me. I 
don't mean to ' 'sound rude. I mean . 
. . well, that is . . . you take this 
so lightly. "' 

''Well, it is what I do for a liv- 
The only reason I treat it like 

point , 



"and opens the building door. He walks through nothing is because I do it all the time. 

the corridors until he comes to a door that 
i\ia.ds, "Evil Deeds, Nigel Stark." He opens 
the door and walks into the room. As he 
tells the secretary his name, Scott sees 
a man waiting. Scott sits next to the man 
and says, "Hi, I'm Scott Winslow. How 
did you hear about this place?" 

The man doesn't seem to want to social- 
ize and sits there as if in deep thought. 
He looks around with suspicion and quickly 
says, "I guess I can trust you. You wouldn't 
be waiting here if Mr. Stark didn't trust 
you. I read the ad in the paper. I had 
m;, wife killed off. She was a wicked woman.'' 
All she did was nag. Oh, by the way, I'm 
^George Barker. Everything I did was wrong. 
I'm ^,lad she's dead. No one deserved to 
die more than her. What are you here for?" 
\ Scott is almost in shock. He can hard- 
1;. believe what he had just heard. He then 
thinks to himself, "What am I in shock for? 
I want to kill off James!" 

Not wanting anyone to hear, Scott whis- 
pers his answer, "I'm having my blackmailer 
killed off." 

George smiles and says, "Oh, that's won- 
derful! What is this person blackmailing 
Vou with?'' 

Scott, realizing this man has a screw 
loose, gives a short reply, "It's a long 

George then says, "Oh. It doesn't re- 
ally matter, as long as Mr. Stark gets 
the job done. And he will, you can count 
on that." 

The secretary interrupts their conver- 
sation by saying, "Mr. Barker, Mr. Stark 
will see you now." 

George Barker bids Scott a farewell 
and enters Nigel Stark's office. Scott waits 
for his turn to see Mr. Stark. He waits for 
George Barker to come out. He waits and 
waits, but no George Barker. Suddenly, he 
hears the secretary tell him to go into the 

When Scott enters the office, he sees 
kn evil-looking man sitting behind a large 
bxack desk. It was, of course, Nigel Stark. 
He looked like the kind of person that would 
kill his own mother. Anc he probably did. 
Scott, wondering where George Barker was, 
asks, "Where is the. man vha ramekin here 

/ Now 

let ' s get back to business , : ' says 
Stark in an icy tone. 

"Well, I guess I should start 
at the beginning," Scott starts off. 
"You see, I used to have this friend 
in^ college. His name was James Kurlow. 
We both fell for the same girl, 
I got the girl, James got mad. Some 
time ago, he found out about a secret 
that I've been hiding. Now, he's 
blackmailing me with it. I can't cor 
up with the money. This seems to be 
my only choice." 

''1 understand," says Mr. Stark 
in a somewhat evil tone. "You con't 
have to worry, I'll take care of this 
matter. Now, all I need to kno^ is 
what college you attended." 

"U of I," Scott says without hesi- 

"Ah, well, that takes care of that, 
says Mr. Stark. "Now all you have to 
do is sign this contract." 

Scott, without reading it, sir-is 
the contract. Mr. .Stark gives c copy 
of the contract to Scott. Scott asks, 
"When do I have to pay you?" 

Mr. Stark gives his reply, '"I will 
expect payment just before our busi- 
ness relationship is over. That 
is what Mr. Barker was doing today. 
I will see you later. Au revoir." 

"That's French, isn't it? r asks 

"Yes, Mr. Winslow, it is," savs 
Mr. Stark sarcastically. Scott fir ally 
leaves . 

The next morning, Scott wakes up 
and thinks that yesterday wrs just a 
dream. He gets out of bed, takes a 
shower, and eats breakfast just 'ike 
any other day. While eating breakfast, 
Scott reads the newspaper. He notices 
a headline that reads, "James Ku^Jow 
Dies of a Sudden Heart Attack. 1 ' flcott 
is horrified and realizes yester ^ay 
was not a dream. He feels guilt ir for 
hiring Mr. Stark. 

Scott reads on and thinks to him- 
self, "It can't be my fault, he 
died of a heart-attark--natiiral causes. 
But he vn.q in perfect health. He_jC.ould 



Evil Deeds, continued 

have been poisoned, making it appear to be 
a heart attack. But James was in his car 
at the time. I've got to see Mr'. Stark. 
He'll have the answers." 

A half -hour later, he arrives at Mr. 
vSuurk*s office. Scott barges into the 
office where Mr. Stark is consulting a 
slient. Scott rushes the client along, 
pushing him out the door. 

"What is the meaning of this?" shouts 
Mr. Stark. "You have no right to do that 
to my clients." 

"Blow it out your ear," Scott says an- 
vgiily. "I want to know if you killed James.' 

"Yes, I did," Mr. Stark says coolly- 

"Then you did poison him!" Scott says 
with disgust. 

"Now, Mr. Winslow, I didn't poison 
him," Mr. Stark says. 

'That doesn't make any sense," Scott 
starts off. "How did you cause his 
heart attack?" 

"Magic, Mr. Winslow, magic," Mr. Stark 
says . through a devilish laughter. 

You're crazy!" Scott savs starting to 
become frightened. "Look, I'm getting 
out of here. I don't ever want to see or 
hear from you again. I'll send a check in 
the mail." 

Scott heads for the front door, but is 
.stopped when Mr. Stark says, "Mr. Winslow, 
the back way. Our business relationship is 
over so you must go out the back way." 

"What difference does it make?" 
Scott asks, becoming more frightened of 
what Mr. Stark vill do. 

"Out the back way, Mr. Wir. ■', 
out the back way!" yells Mr. St 
his eyes flashing with anger. 

"You're a nut! I'm getting out of 
here," syas Scott, filled witn fear. 
He tries to open the door >/hile Mr 
Stark|keeps repeating the same phrase. 
The door is jammed and Scott is unable 
to get out. He pounds at the door, 
crying at every pound. He falls to 
his knees, tiring from the poun. ?. 

Scott can't stand it any 1 ^er. 
He has to get out some way, any --', 
the back way. He runs towards the 
door and opens it. To his horror. 
there is no floor beyond the door! 
Flames fill up what should be a room. 
Scott turns around, looking at *■'•?, 
Stark. He is horrified once more oy 

Mr. Stark's change in appearance. Mr. 
Stark is now wearing a black robe and 
cape.;- He now has pointed ears and 
horns, sprouting from his head. 

Mr. Stark gives an evil lat^hter 
as Scott is pulled into the flames 
by an unknown force. The door closes 
and Mr. Stark goes to his phone. 

"Send in the next client, Eve," r syas 
into the intercom. 


W. K. Kahle 


Rut-colored rot £ u "t 

an amber anesthetic, 

can't teach a soul 

how to cut the raging flow 

of pulsating blood, flooding — 

a dungeon-like brain 

housing musty, ancient lies 

holding prisoner tarnished truths: 

a carnal hindrance, a sinner's excuse, 

won't prove to practi ce a 

single, valid use . . . 

for those clanging lost changes 

VLcwiing in the winds, 
that burn in ruin, save for love, 
chained alive inside a Poesque memory. 
A wormy mind can't leave Tillie's Bar 
the madness carried on that far 
mid-western wheat fields are wailing 
a -ry for justice- 
just like a black heart's steely regret 
he could have left at, eleven 

-that, cirrous ed_ June , '37. 

Death is death, 

vengeance is merit worshipped — 


— Didn't mean to do it 

always loathed a Special, 

the cloek ticked twelve . . . 

his lady soaked in scotch 


forming a stabbing collision. 

... A sordid gem 
flocked to another institution, 
leaving those guilty cravings left 
to scream . . . 
The bullet used to chew on 
.might place some leverage on the paljn,- 
below — 

never acknowledging feeling. 
Those reciprocated senses — 
she was the_ lucky one . 



Judy Bel fi aid 


The "blessings of madmen 
ma i e on holy days 
in whispered tones 
•through incense-thick center aisles 
of basilica/asylums 
are stained on my soul 
^waiting, like omens, 
for fulfillment. 
The madmen's fingers 
raised in signs of crosses 
disintegrate in memory 
reintegrate like ghosts 
taking on flesh 
then dissolve again. 
Premises I made 
hover like evil spirits 
in the desert 

forty suns and forty moons ago — 
promises exchanged for blessings 
from madmen 
with Charlie Mans on eyes. • ■ 


Larry McKay 


Basketball's such a boring game, 
The .guys are all too tall. 
They don't even need to leave the f 
To dunk the friggin' ball. 

Football ■ s such a violent game, 
Someone's always hurt. 
All they do is break some bones 
And wait for blood to spurt. 

Hocksy's such a phony game, 
They skate around the rinks. 
They have the grace of Orson Welles 
And fight like Leon Spiaks. 

And now we come to baseball, 
Our nation's greatest game. 
The only sport that I would pay 
To see its Hall of Fame. 

Gehrig, Williams, and The Babe, 
Rose, Mantle, -nd Mays, 
Names that will forever be with me 
Until my dying days. 

Judy Lake 


There ! s a drive . . . way back . . 

Left-center field . . . 

It might be . . . 

It could be . . . 


This is school, you see, and he must behave! HOOOOLY COW! 
He's gonna put me in an early grave. 

"Mrs. Lake!" she cried, "About your son 
'le's just been having too much fun! 

Again today, he disrupted the class 

By talking too loud and running too fast. 

3urely you must know of some way 

To make him mind me, starting TODAY!" 

I smiled to myself as she told me what's 

Jo one could know him as well as I do. 

I k-ow just how she feels when she deals 

with my son; 
iis snergy level can't be outdone. 

'o I said to the teacher, "I svmpathize, 
^lease call me whenever these problems 


"letveen you and me , let ' s work out a plan 
'o help him behave the best that he can." 



remembered a time twenty years ago 
'hen another conference went just about so. 

V teacher was angry 'cause I had been bad. 
[ disrupted her class and made her real mad. 


Mike Trover 


Last night I sat awake 
Reading an out -dated book 
With MTV on low. 

None of it really stayed though. 
I couldn't keep my thoughts off you. 
Sure, I've dated before — 
Once or twice — 

But n^ver before has the prospect kept 

me awake. 

So tonight, if I se°m to 
Know in advance 

What : sgoing to happen 
It ' s because I lived through 
Countless variations of our date 
Somewhere between ps^es 15 and 187. 


^o my mother was sent a nice long letter 
\slting for help so I would act better. 

/ve reached a conclusion that makes me feel glad 
ly eon is like me, he can't be all bad! 



Jenny Stipan 

Mike Trover 



"Well), Therese, it's nine-thirty." 

"Yeah. You guys leave at ten, right?" 

"Yep," affirmedJennie without making 
an effort to move. She and her best friend 
had been swimming for the last hour . They 
were now sitting on the edge of the pool 
•talking while their suits dried. 

"It's weird that you guys go at night," 

Jennie laughed. "C'mon, Therese, this 
is my family that you're talking about* no- 
thing is too strange, We're going to 
•beat "the heat,' as Dad puts it. Well, I 
guess I have to go. I don't want to start 
my week as a captive on a family vacation 
being late. 

"Well, have fun, Jen." 

Turning to give Therese the full effect 
of her look b Jennie pulls a face. "Therese, 
my whole family is going to be there! All 
of those chiefs and no Indians. I doubt it 
will be fun!" 

'See ya in a week, kid." 

'Well, don't be surprised if you get 
a phone call from Union Station. I might 
just end my vacation if I can't take it. r 
They both laugh and Jennie heads home. 

DAY 1 

Hi T., 

I guess I'm going to have to write you 
to keep my sanity. 

The ride down was .exactly the way I 
thought it would be. Emily couldn't sit 
st^'ll for even one minute. So Na and I 
never got to sleep. Amy and Mom fell asleep (A wick with no fuse) 

Since I've known you, 

I've discovered many things about 


I can actually survive in a rc?om 

not ankle-deep in various forms of 


There actually is life 

awajf from the TV screen. 

I've found a funny little monster 
living in my stomach 
who scratches with long nails 
and tickles by wagging its whif -s. 

I've always known I had the 

to love. 
I just never suspected the capacity 

to be boundless. 


Lindsey Bianchi 


C'mon Boz' 

Spare me the noze 

Quit the cookie 

And the corny 

Kid shows 

Don't walk away mad 

Don't think you're had 

Deep down inside we all know that you'r 

With vour totality shoes 

in the front and Dad turned the radio to 
one of his Ethel Merman stations. We went 
through St. Louis at about 3 a.m. My whole 
family woke up and piled to one side of the 
cax- to see the Golden Arch. What a bunch 
of tourists! We had breakfast in Branden. 
How humiliating. We opened the car doors 
and kind of fell out onto the pavement. 
Then we smoothed our wrinkled clothes and 
combed our Ihair in the parking lot and 
went; into the restaurant. Aunt Linda, 
Uncle Jim, and their kids ate with us. 

It was nearly 8 a.m. before we were to 
Lafiipe, the town where the resort is located. 
All the way through Lampe (a small town with 
one gas station) my Mom drew our attention 
the changes since she had been there last 

''Now, that's new; look a grocery store. 
■ Oh, and coming up is the craft place with 
the bottles in the trees. Oh, they've add- 
ed a new porch . . . ,: Ho-hum. 

Now, I'm watching the little girls swim 
but Naomi and Emily are nere too. So I just 
look up and count life jackets every couple 
•of minutes. The rest of my aunts and uncles 
get here tonight. Yippee Skippy. Bye for 

DAY 3 
Everyone arrived, yesterday. "Grandma 

Behemoth bowtie 
The orange hair guy 
A polka-dot prince 
His jokes make you wince 
The kids play his games 
(Become primal shames) in their dre: 
He comes laughing 
He comes lurching 
He comes searching 
For the weakness 
(For the bleakness) 
And the blandn«ss 
(And the meekness) 

Our mind's first memory 
A screaming Bozo face 
A screaming Bozo nose 
A screaming Bozo hair-do 
(and screaming Bozo " 

E - 


and Grandpa picked up John on thex 1 " way 
down. The Bible-beaters and the:.- .wo 
kids arrived on the scene* They &. .,t 


Sissy, continued 

straight to the cabin on the end. Pete and 
Sue and Justin came in. 

Justin is such a cute kid, which is 
what Pete and Sue think about me. Fun, I 
like being treated like I'm 2. 

We had a sing-along last night. The 
whole family joined in, but after two or 
three "Old Family Favorites," we ended up 
s5nging hymns. My requests fell on deaf 
ears;, children, after all, must be seen and 
not heard. I didn't even know most of the 
.hymns. Apparently, my Catholic upbringing 
was musically inadequate. 

I went swimming in the lake today. It 
spells like fish. I smelled like fish, but 
I was so hot I didn't care. Five minutes of 
relief, then we were dive-bombed by the big- 
gest, meanest horse-fly I've ever seen. 
Emily almost went crazy shrieking all the 
way to the cabin. Na and I were right on 
her heels, swinging our towels like lassoes , 
let-ting out a shriek or two ourselves. We 
dove into the cabin and slammed the door only 
to find that the fly had followed us inside. 
Emilv started to cry. I grabbed a shoe and 
pulverizfd the bull'"'. 


DAY k 

Oh God, Threse. I think the whole state 
of Missouri is crawling. I knew Illinois 
has ticks and chiggers, but I don't feel 
compelled to carry an umbrella under the 
trees. Aunt Linda found a tick on Jaime's 
head. Ugh. I'll stick to sunny, open areas 
from now on. 

P^ter and I stopped yesterd?.y at the 
feait shop. Dad gave me a list of things 
to get, and I, having trouble identifying 
anything more complicated than a rod and 
reel, gave the list to the clerk. I knew 
we had to get night crawlers (can you imagine 
playing for earth worms?) but imagine my 
surprise when the fellow asked, "Where 
d' y'all want your crickets?" 

I was so appalled. Dad had put 3 dozen 
crickets on the list I didn't trouble myself 
to read. God, I hate bugs! Before I could 
stop it, my mind conjured up images of live 
crickets in my bare hands. I shudder and 
ask the gentleman what he would suggest. 
He points out an assortment of containers. 
Finally, deciding on the 86<£-remodeled-ice- 
cream-carton-cricket-conta-ner, the clerk 
took it to the back to count crickets. Pe- 
ter carried the package out to the car., and 
I worried all the way home that the crickets 
Vmight escape. 

DAY 5 

I can't believe I've turned into such a 
sissy! When I was little, my isisters 
and I soent whole afternoons turning logs 
ana rocks to find enough worms for Dad's 
fishing trips. I baited rav hook with a 
worm this morning and nearly had an anxiety 
attack. We were out on the boat fishing and 
I couldn't ,1ust run in and wash my hands. 

John was putting crickets on his hook. 
T Mad -• him cast from the other sid-,*; no 

cricket was going to fly over my head. 
Somehow, I tangled my line. He set his 
pole down and haloed me out of ray mess. 
Turning to thank him, I caught si -ht of 
the cricket, hook and line, making its 
way up his pant leg. That was it. I 
quit fishing and went to the far sad of 
the boat away from my f amily and their 

Oh, it's raining now. I'm going 
shopping with my mom. Gotta go. 

DAY 6 

It rained all day yesterday. Today, 
it's really warm and really moist, 
perfect millipede weather. Millipedes 
came out in droves. I have never seen 
anything like this. This place is mov- 
ing. Everywhere the eve can see, little 
millipedes are rowing their carlike 
legs and moving right along. The kids 
are having a hey-day stamping millipedes 
with every step. I hope I don't die be- 
fore we leave. 

Amy explained to me, "If you cut 
them in half, one half goes one W3V and 
the other goes the opposite way." I 
found part of her experiment rowing a- 
cross the cabin floor. I swent it out 
with the broom. Half an hour later, the 
othe' half rowed under the bathroom 
door. I was sitting on the toilet, 
choking back a sob. 

As far as I'm concerned, just read 
ing this ought to weaken the ord: ry 
soul. After experiencing every bit of 
this and more, my family sat around last 
night making Jokes, recounting earlier 
instances describing in graphic detail 

bugs Pn d buglike activities-- 
smashing them, eating them, finding them 
in your clothes, etc. I requested 
that we change the subiect several times. 
I even started a couple of different 
conversations myself. But always the 
subject turned back to bugs. These 
people are morbid. The timin^ on this 
was beautiful. Just wh^n I was sure I 
could take no more, I thought I heard 
a chirping noise Sunder the window. 
Upon closer examination, I found that 
damned 86<£-remodeled-ice-cream--c art on- 
cricket-container on the table! I 
started to pick up the container in- 
tending to move it off of the dinner 
table, and the lid slipped. Oh God, I 
slammed it on the table and was out of 
the door before I could think straight. 
Everyone started to laugh. 

Nearing my limit, I thought I'd 
better take a walk and settl? down. A 
moth buzzed me and I started to cr r . 
Walking under a tree, a drop of **i ber 
dripped on my arm. I nearly Jumped out 
of my skin, landing from that junm, ry 
foot slipped out of my thong. I seem 2 
to step on something mushv like a mil- 
lipede, but I'll never know because I 
didn't have the stretngth to look. It 


i co itiriu ) 

Sissy, continued 

was about ten minutes before I was sure I 
•wasn't going to go into hysterics. It would 
\probably v^~s~y amusing except I have the 
rest of the day to go. It's not even noon. 

Here's hoping my cheese stays on .. 

cracker ! 


ducks stay on thslr 

pond! And the millipedes stay in 
Missouri! ! ! 


Judy Belfield 



Crouched in a corner 
ol an emnty gray room 
s ^ 3 examines whorls and loops 
on her fingers 
searching tor the telltale 
omens of death - 
a hint of decay 
in one of the lines 
a slight scent 
of flesh gone had. 
She crouch-s smaller, 
the certainty of end 
tightening the knot of herself 
like the noose 
on a murderer's neck 
cfter the trap-door swings open. 
Suddenly, she hears 
a mazurka 

somewhere in her mind; 
the not as tantalize. 
--She springs upright 
tn^ tenseness, like a snipped wire, 
she drowns herself 
in dance. 



In rags , I conceal 

soft hands unused to dirt; 

I have always 

been too good for work, 

my noble line 

protected in lace 

surrounded by glass 

and silver, 

but now things have changed- 

my brocades mark me 

for a tryst with the blade: 

I hide my noble line 

in tatters 

stolen in haste. 

I stand here 

swallowed by the sm~ll 

of thousands of beggars 

their cheers exploding like 

cannon volley 

through decaying teeth 

and my heart freezes 
as th- ice-terror 

ftrabs my shoulder 

and LeFarge drops a stitch. 


Lindsey Bianchi 

Jerry Keir 


I've got many varied volumes of lengthy bullshit. 
I' ~e got irons in the fire that haven't melted 

down yet. 
I've got a job waiting for me that I'll up and 

An' I'll burn that bridge when I come to it! 

I --rote a letter to a loved one that I ain't sent 

I wanna fall in love, but I can't commit. 
I'm in the middle of nowhere. So-be-it. 
An" I'll burn that bridge when I come to it! 

I've had years of education and hers I sit. 
Tryin' to spin v-o rns like a damned knit-wit. 
My brain is an airplane with no cockpit. 
An' I'll burn that bridge when I come to it! 


before the empty mirror 
shaking strange dreams 
from my hair 

■ — self-indulgent idiosvncr :ies 
festering idiopathic ignom.:'ay. 
Next to latent wishes 
foot prints in the threshold 
of misery. 

before the empty mirror 
vague shadows 
of what's left of me. 


There 'e a couple more things that I have to admit. 
I never let up like a bottomless pit 
Guess I'll quit takin' drugs after this ilist hit. 
/An' I'll burn that brige when I come to it! 



Terrjr Rogers 


Play your guitar man. 
Treat me to romance. 
Cradle me in peace, 
Slowly paralyze my senses. 
Strike wrong your tool , 
And remind me where I 
really am. 

**#* »*** 

Li&dsey Bianehl 

they've "been mimbered 
they've been named 
they've been tailored fea? success 
they've been framed. 
their every thought 
their every dream 
their every movement it would seem 
is checked with the head ooach 
'with th® t@am 
with the rales and 

I | 

I Despise' 



Luther Brown 


Beads of cold sweat swell, then run down of the influential passenger. On lad to 
through the lines of the driver's furrowed pay dearly, and the driver waited pat- 
forehead, dripping into and over his dilated iently for his opportunity. He had 
eyes. lev, damp hands grip the steering wheel r>lentv of time. 

'with white-knuckled desperation as his head His chance arrived in the form of 
,j~rks spastically from side to side, searchingan obese, black inmate named Abe" 1 " 1 " 1 !, 
endlesslv in the rear-view mirrors for whom "The Wind'' made the mistake of 
approaching headlights. The passenger choos mouthing off to while alone. It Droved 

to be a bad time for the diminutive p r - 
senger to voice his racial prejudic 
for Abdullah sent him crashing headlong 
into the wall before he could 
finish spewing his hatred. 

"You fat nigger bastard, you'll pay 

away nervously at a pile of white crystal on 
a mirror in his lap, occasionally scoop- 
ing up a small pile on the corner of the 
razor blade and ordering the driver to "do 
a blast." Reaching into the glove compart- 
ment, the passenger removes a small, brass 
tube in order to feed his own hungry nostrils. for this! squealed the rat-facer* pas- 

"Goddammit!" hisses the driver as a pair senger as his assailant reached ym to 
of h -adlights suddenly appears on the road continue .his fun. At this point the 
behind them. He wasn't normally the tyne to driver stepped in and swung the metal 
panic, but between the cocaine paranoia and mop-bucket he had been using over his 
the unusual circumstances that had previous - head and crashing into the n.^ck of the 
ly unfolded, he was slowly beginning to un- unwitting mountain of ebony flesh, send-- 
ravel. He was certain that every approaching ing him splashing to the cement floor. 
- vehicle was an officer of the law. The fallen behemoth began to- grunt 

"Is that a cop car?V he shouts at an something in retaliation, but was ^uick- 
irritated passenger. "Look at those square ly silenced by a well-placed heel to the 

headlights, it's gotta be a pig! : ' 
N N The passenger turns calmly toward him 
with a look of disgust on his rodent-like 
face. "Relax, jerk -wad, we're almost th^-re, 
so don't start freakin' out on me now." 

The knot in the driver ' s stomach begins 
\.to burn and twist tighter and tighter as 
the headlights pull up closer behind them. 
Etched over the wheel and on the edge of 
his ssat, the -driver's breathing becomes 
heavier and he stops checking in the mir- 
rors. As the small Volkswagen that had been 
tailing them changes lanes and passes, the 
driver lets out a deep breath and begins to 
fumble for a cigarette. 

"It's just not worth it, T fan, it's not 
worth it," he repeats continually in his 
head as they hurtle on through the black 

It had been like this as long as the 
driver could remember, ever since the wife 
he never spoke of left him for another man. 

head. The passenger, leaning against 
the wall and rubbing his should -r, 
screeched, "Who the hell are you, and 
what do you want?" 

Stepping forward, the driver's 
large shadow engulfed the quivering, 
crouched, little body in darkness. 

"I need a connection, and I hear 
that you're the man. I've b^en "oing 
my days here straight for almost two 
months now and I'm sick of this reality 
shit. I'd like to establish a partne - 
ship so I don't have to worry about cov- 
ing up with cash or getting busted by 
some trustee narc. : 

Tipping his head to on- side, the 
passenger eyed the towering driver cu- 
riously. All right, all right. We 
can work something out. But non of thi 
partnership crap. You'll be wor" *.ng for 
me. And here," he added as he str:~ch- 
out his open hand, on the nalm of which 
It had been over ten years now, and he still sat a small aluminum foil package. 
trusted no one, .'especially the seedy passen- Th~ driver snatched it up and turn- 
ger that had become his m -' 2 -l "ticket from ed to leave. "Now I don't owe you no- 
hell. They had met in Stateville, and neith- thing.," yelled the passenger, "se when 

^r one of them spoke of why thay were in or 
x n what their names were. Ik simply didn't 
matter. The passenger, who was known as 
"The Wind" for his lack of a permanent ad- 
dress (he never stayed anwhere more than 
two or three nights), always had access to 
th?. best drugs, .'in and out of prison, and 
th= driver ^r:-^err-dto stay perpetually 
numb rather than have to think (if he would 
think, he would begin to remember). There- 
fore, the driver offered his driving skills 
end imposing physical presence in order to 
establish a business relationship with 
The Wind. " Simply offering these services 
was not enough^ however, to earn the respect 

we talk again, it f s on clean terms ! 7 ' 
The driver shook his head as h? 
continued to walk. 

As soon as they were both released 
from the Big House (th^ driver got pa- 
roled four months before the passenger), 
they i running cocaine together, 
because there was the most money in this 
costly stimulant. Business h.ed rone 
smoothly for years, despite the fact 
that they had to ; 'eliminate" somi- of 
their connections that had attempted 
use the old "bait and switch 1 ' scam on 
these two street veterans. 'Jsing an 
'84 Corvette to do their rounds, they 



The Driver, continued 

had coolly and calculatingly established a 
refutation as being ruthless but reliable 
in delivering the goods. They had mechani- 
callv gone about their routine, until 
tonight. There was something different a- 
s bout this night. 

cading sweat, anyway. 

"God in heaven, she looked . 
like her," thought the driver, his 
in another time and place, thinkxn 
how things might have been. Sudo 
the driver jerks the wheel sharp" 

Everything had gone as planned until theythe left and into the oncoming tr- 

tested the stuff at the connects' house in 
Cicero. His name was Julio, and he was all 
smiles. Th^ kind of forced smile that makes 
your stomach turn, because it has bullshit 
written all over it. He invited them in 
with^ ''Hey, Brothers, corns in, come in} : ' of- 
fering a hand to shake, which the driver 
coldly refused. As they entered the fetid 
kitchen where the business at hand would take 
vplace, the driver noticed her. She had ob- 
■vl.msly been beaten, cecause there was a 
large swelling under one eye, and she had 
bruises and scratches on her exposed arras. 
As they entered, she opened her mouth as if 
to speek, but her greeting was shoved back 
swiftly by Julio's black, vicious stare. 
Tl.e driver stared at her for a few moments, 
and thought to himself, "I've seen those 
eyes somewhere before. I know those eyes." 
He was becoming more and more uncomfortable 
as .his thoughts began to rack back in 
time. The passenger removed his testing 
kit from the inside pocket of his jacket, 
reaching slowly and pulling it out gradually 
and deliberately so as not to disturb a very 
shaky Julio. The Zip-Lock bag filled with 
the precious flak- was lying on the battered 
table, and ; 'The Wind opened the bag and 

fie. A thin smile of grim satis:"- 
crosses the driver's face as the 
passenger's final scream is cut s? 
by the devastating impact. 

r of 
ly . 




Judy Belfield 


She drifts into sleep 

like a vagrant 

in a small town: 

"Don't get comfortable 

just keep movin," 

the sheriff says 

noting worndown shoes 

that sass-flap as they walk 

noting the grime and dust 

of a thousand other small towns : 

a sudden, prolonged gasp, 

for a second 

she knows the terror of drowning . 

coming up for the last time 

frantically sucking in air; 

eyelids snap open 

she exhales, slowlv 

began the testing. 

"'What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?releases the tight coil 
a sweat-drench- d Julio managed to blurt out. of her body, softly 
The passenger waited for the chemical reactionliquid again 
to occur, and when nothing happened, he sim- she finds herself 
ply looked at the driver and nodded. Julio on another Main Street 
slumped to the floor as the driver placed his staring at another badge, 
handgun in its holster. 

The driver had been trying to avoid 
looking at the girl, but as the passenger's 
s\v_bchblade clacked into action, he couldn't 
help but turn his head in time to see the 
knife slice swiftly and cleanly through the 
soft, white flesh of her throat. As she 
flopped onto the table, he couldn't help but 
look into the empty eyes as her life drain- 


Jerry Keir 


Within the inner sanctum 
of the stall 

ed instantly with a gurgling, gagging finali- liquid phrases 


They automatically rushed from the 
scene and jumped into the waiting auto 
screeching to a reckless exit. 

"Relax, Partner, we're outta there. 
We still have the money," pleaded the pas- 
senger, who had never seen the driver react 
like this before. In fact, he had never 
seen the driver react, period. Th.^ soaking 
wet driver began to panic about the police, 
mentioning it to the irritated and dis- 
gusting passeng r. As mentioned earlier, 
the driverthought every car was a cop. 
The passenger was too busv "powdering his 
nose' to notice the tears running down the 
driver* a face. They blsndod with the cas- 


spray me. 

In the morning 

shower light 

pellets of water words 

ricochet from my chest 

— Superman of linguistics 

In the steam of consciousness 

misty melancholy visions 

rise from the tile 










Alas, cleansed perception. 

Jerry Keir 

Donna Shibovich 


You were there. 

last night 
in a soupy dream 
I touched you 
and you turned your hack 

•to talk -with someone 
^two-dimensional ... 
. . . .it hurt . 


Judy Bel field 


Cry of a seagull 
sweeping over turgid water 
dies in a passionate gray distance of sky 
\sea rumbles in 
on foam-laced waves . . . 
I can tell the times of color: 
oyster-shell eyes 
tinted softlv green, 
Jade plankton spires 
reaching from the ocean floor 
trying to touch the sun 
with swaying fingers; 
I remember the squeal 
of dolphins racing past 
and the numb silence 
that gulped us down 
to Neptune's trenches 
where we laughed too soon. 
Look now on the flat glass— 
a slate of memories 
snared by a mirror-past 
washes so transparent 
Ve cannot guess the original pigment 
and we dare not try; 
instead, walk away 
bsfore the seagull returns 
to cry for us again. 

Jerry Keir 


Partel shades 

of words 
invoke a landslide of 

enigmatic emotions : -. , 
a panpipe Laugh 
tenor sax airily giggles 


One fine day my and I 

took it upon us to tak a Walk 

and perhaps, we thought, 

we'd have a nice little tall? 

"Hi Brain, 1 ' I started, quite dimly 

Tired, overloaded, Brain gave no reply 

We walked many miles in solemn silence 

and then my brain, it started to cry. 

What could be the matter 

our hands clinching firm 

our walk getting ' faster 

"Help," said my brain in a wailir ■ tone, 

"I'm heading for disaster!" 

"Why?" in puzzlement, I chose to ask 

"Is it now that you've chosen to war.deij 

to crack?" 
"Your world, the reality," cried my brain 
"has taken me away from you 
and won't give me back ..." 
Saddened and wordless 
the two of us wandered home 
separate were our hands 
and though side by side we were 
we were quite alone. 


Jerry Keir 


Over coffee 

tears of honey 
drop onto cold toast ' 

outside the kitchen window 
winter saunters about 

without particular aim 
slovenly sweet stains 

litter the faded table clot: . 
Over coffee 

a few crumbs of indirect affection 

to the floor 

losing rose-scented flavor 
in the dust. 
Over coffee, 
we went a separate way 
forever . 


/ And that famous smile 

as grand as the pacific 




Judy Bel field 


Spoon me thick 

like apricot-glaze 

over your wafer self 

watch me cling 

ooze over your edges 

smother you with 
" s we et s y r up phr as e s 

cover you over 

with a glistening coat. 

See me 

not quite as finished 
s peach marmalade — 
'^a hit tart 

in the aftertaste 

hut giving, giving . . . 

Jerry Keir 


""An ins oui cant dream 
brings to light 
a fleeting vision 
of beauty. 

Like a stringless kite 
this vision fades 
from my sl o-^ 
to drift "long 
into the night. 

Terry Rogers 


Sit b -3 side me 
Astral traveler 
Teach me to be. 

In c. time of words, 
No room for action, 
A life is in hold. 

Sit baside me, 
Astral traveler 
Teach me to act. 

Permeate the shroud of ignorance, 
P^k the figures, 
Influence the shadows. 

Sit beside me, 
Aptral traveler, 
Be my shadow. 


Shelbia Chandler 


\s Day 

3 my 

- v I 

someone's table in the cafeteria, 
pie snapped their fingers as Mor 
sang "Jungle Love." I stared ir: 
coffee, tears burning the rims ■' ' 

"Hey, Baby, check out that 
Don't that sound make you just \. :ia 

I looked blankly into Dell * s smi- 
ling face. His smile died as his large, 
hand covered mine. 

"What's up. Mama?" he asked, sit- 
ting^-down. "You look like you just lost 
your best friend." 

My lip trembled as I answered. 
"That's just it, Dell. I don't have 
any friends to lose. I can't under- 
stand it, but I've been told yet again 
that I'm no sister." 
/ "Oh, Baby, why you gotta be so 

damned sensitive? Why do you listen 
to that bull-jive?" 

When I didn't snswer, Dell sighed 
and watched a fat tear creep down ray 
cheek. He leaned forward, wining it 
away with his finger. 

"Don't sit there throwin' °not, : ' 
he said. "Let's rap. Who said you 
wasn't no sister?" 

"It doesn't matter who sai~ it,' ; 
I answered. "Apparently it's tr -.;. 
People don't want me around. The; ray I 
put on white people airs, and tr_ r call 
me an oreo. They Tsay I thinh I ? m 
better than they are." 

"Fran," said Dell, "you know I 


Music blared from a radio placed on 

your friend, so don't take this the 
wrong way. I've gotta ask you some- 

"To ahead." 

He held my hand tightly and gazed 
at me solemnly. 

"Do you? Deep-down-insid^ „ do 
you think you are better than the r^st 
of us?" 

I snatched my hand from his grasp 
in indignation. 

"What the hell kind of question 
is that? If that's what you think, 
Tony Delrose, you know what you can 

"Be cool, Baby, I'm your friend. 
Now stop rolling your eves at ne. I 
think I can halp you, but first liell 
me. What can I do, Franc ine?" 

I grinned but said nothing. 
After a moment, he laughed. *'T 66 
con't know if this is gonna work but 
I'm gonna teach you how to be bl ok in 
three easy lessons." 

I laughed. "Are you crazy? 
Haven't you looked at me late] 1 " "y 
skin is a far cry from being white."' 

"It takes more to be blacl' than 
black skin, Fran," "he said sor'r "" v . 
"It's a matter of how you carry vo^ .self, 
how you look at life, and what's in- 
s i d e you . " 



Bl&sk or Me, continued 

"That sounds good, but I'm not sura I 
understand. " 

"You will," he assured me. "I'll come 
by tonight and we'll have our first lesson." 

As Dell left the cafeteria, I wondered 
what he was planning. 


Taking a swallow of Coke, I facsd Dell 
Xaci-oss the kitchen table. 

"Well, what's the first lesson, Profes- 
sor?" I teased. 

"Language," he answered. "Tonight W a 

"Interesting," I replied. 

"Let me explain," he went on. "Some- 
times you talk like a textbook, which is fine 
in its place. You use correct terms and 
grammar is nearly perfect. To be black, you 
have to learn to adapt. Blacks usually 
know what's right, but sometimes they can't 
deal with such proper l-- n ^uagef rom their 
own race. It throws them off. If you want 
Nto be called "a sister, you gotta talk like 

the next day. 

''Rise and shine, Lazy Bone? 


i bur- 

it ' s 




"I know what you mean," I said deject- 
edly, "but it doen't come naturally ■ to me. 
I find it hard to do." 

"Well, say you meet a friend coming 
down the .'street. What do you say?" 

"I gu^ss I would say hi." 
v "All right sometimes , but the usual pro- 
n edure would be , ' What ' s happening , ' ' What ' s 
up,' or 'What it be like.'"' 

"Okay, I'm with you so far," I replied. 
'Fow reverse the situation. Someone 
comes up to you and says one of these phrases 
now do you respond? 1 ' 

"I have no idea. 1 ' 

"Well, you would answer with, '3very- 
^-thing's cool,' 'Ain't nothing goin' down,' 
or 'Just hanging.'" 

"I'm still with you." 

"Okay, now you're in a room full of 
friends. When you leave, what should vou 

"See you?" 

"Better," he said, "but still not quite 
right. You should say, 'I'm gonna pull up,' 
'Check you out later,' or depending on the 
circumstances, you could say, 'Let's make a 
move,' or 'Are you ready to ride?'" 

"I've got that," I said lighting up a 

''Can I cop a square?: he asked. 

"Say what? " I asked puzzled 

He jumped up shouting. "It's working! 
iou just used slang." 

I smiled sheepishly. "I did,, didn't 
I? Wow tell me, what's a square?" 
/ He laughed. square is that thing 
/you're smoking. 

I laughed also. "This is really be- 
ginning to fall into place. I can hardly 
wait for lesson two." 



I was still asleep when Dell arrived 

cried dumping a pile of packages 

I opened on - ; eve, groaned, 
ied my head beneath the pillow. 

'Up, up, up," he insist sd. 
after eleven, and we have lots of 
to do." 

"Damn you, Tonv Delrose," ■nv.t-*"' 
tered. "It's Saturday. You kept me up 
half the. night. What the hell are yo 
doing up already?" 

"I told you, we have a lot to do, 
Frsncine. So get up! Fow ! ha'sr\d 
pounding the bed. 

/ "Damn vou anyway , Dell," I nsver- 
/ed, sitting up groggily. "How t hell 
did you get in here, anyway, and "hat's 
all this shit?" 

Dell sat in the chair near uy bed, 
lit two cigarettes, and passed ip- one 
before r.nswering. 

, "We sure are vulgar when we wake 
upj aren't we? Well, for starters, 
Dee let me in on her way out. And uhis 
shit, as you so sweetly put it, is your 
new wardrobe. " 

''Are you out of your fu . . ." 

"Hold on, Mama!" he interrupted 
angrily, 'there is only. so much I'm gon- 
na 1st and. I'm tryin' to do you a fa- 
vor. If you're gonna get your ass up 
on your shoulders with me, you c-ae for- 
get it. I can pull up, it won't "bother 
me none . " 

I pulled the blankets around r.e 
.and eyed him guiltily. 

"I'm sorry, Dell. I didn't get 
much sleep last night, and I'm always 
terrible in the morning." 

"You can say that again," he said 
with a smile. 

I flicked my ashes into the ash- 
tray and leaned back against th~ : ;c \d- 
board. "Dell, I don't need any * T 
clothes: I've got a closet full :>f 
clothes; some of them haven't even been 
worn. " 

"I know all about your clothes 
closet, Fran." 

"So you should know that I don't 
need any new clothes." 

"I'm afraid you do, Babe,'' he said 
as he moved over to the packages and 
began unwrapping them. 

I sighed. "Can't this at least 
wait until I have dressed and eaten?" 

"No," he answered. "Why do this 
the hard way? You would only have to 
change again. Today, vou are wearing 
these threads . " 

" "All right," I sighed. 

"First we have the jeans and the. 
s licks.,." he said opening the first pack- 



Black Or Me, continued 

chicken is 'finger-lickin' good'?" 

"Yeah, well, I dont want chicken 
grease all over ray fingers. It - • -c'cs 
nail polish and. gets on vour clothes. 7 ' 

"That's why you have your 


I wrinkled my nose and reached on the 
night stand for another cigarette. I tri=d 
to blow smoke rings as Dell went on. 

!; In the next package, we have two kinds 
of shoes. First, we have your flats. These 
"are black, so they can be worn with any color. he said smugly. "They don't show 
Then, we have your gym .shoes; blue and whit egr ease easily. Fran, you sat yourself 
so they'll match your jeans and some of the away from everyone. That makes 1 .ack 

"Now wait a minute, Dall," I cut in. r, I 


» + 

what clothes have to d6 with being 

black. My own clothes seem fine to me." 

"Well, you're wrong," he assured me. 
Your clothes are nice, but they set you 
ipart. Rather than looking like a school- 
girl you look like a rising young executive. 

TAilormade skirts, suits, blouses*, and 
high heals, come on, Francine. How many 
other students do you see dressed that way?" 

"But I 'like iny high heels and dresses, 
They make me look like a lady." 

"You can be a lady in .anything vou wear, 
Besides, if you dress up all the time, you 
won't look any different on special 

; 'But I hate gym shoes. They make your 
feet sweat and stink," I whined. 

"Oh, Francine, will you stop hunting for creation, 
excuses, get your black behind out of that Tuesday. 

and white people feel inferior. You 
have to join in with the grouo some- 
times. So what if you get a little 
dirty, at least you have fun. Besides, 
that ' s why they make wash-and-wear and 
soap-and-water . " 

"I get your point," I said 
as I picked up my drumstick and b -gan 
to munch it. "You know, it tastes bet- 
ter this way," I said later around a 
mouthful of chicken. 

"Atta girl," he grinned. "You're 
finally learning to be a homegirl. 

Monday, I wors mv jeans to aool 
Dell was right. People compliment 2d 

me all day. He was "oleased with his 

bed and go try these clothes on. 

Dell's face fell when he 
saw me. He seemed almost ready to cry 

Dell handed me my robe. I put it on and when his eyes took in my navy-blue skirt. 

, muttered my way into the bathroom. Perhaps 
he was right, but only time would tell. 



"Hey now," Dell said when I emerged from 
the bedroom. "Well, you is one fine-looking 
x Mama, and I ain't bullshittin' . " 

'They look nice, but I don't know," I 

/ "Well, you think about it. We're going 
/ou-'j for lunch." 

"Lunch," I exclaimed. "I haven't even 


■had breakfast." 

"You can call it brunch if you want." 

"Where are we going?" I asked. 

/'Kentucky Fried," he said walking to 
the door. 

"Say what?" 

: 'Will you shut up and come on!" he ex- 
claimed. "I didn't chow down this morning 
"^either. My intestines are rubbing together." want to be my friends. I'm the same 

pink blouse, and high heels. 

"What's this?" he asked. 'I 
thought we had made some headway." 

"You did all right, Dude,' ; I 
smiled, "and I'm very happy." 

"Then I don't get it. Why are 
you dressed like this?" 

"Dell, you helped me more tb^n you 
know. I'm glad you got me the cT-^thes, 
even if it did cost me a fortune I'm 
also glad you helped me with my <~~ommar.' 

"It that's true, then whyth^ 

"Be cool," I answered. I'm get- 
ting to that. While deer> .ir.side, I 
love the clothes and I will \r-ar them 
sometimes, I realize something, m h^re 
was nothing really wrong with me. You 
liked me before the change. That's real 
friendship. The vay I dress <ind speak 
shouldn't influence thos* 3 who r.. ly 

'You mean your stomach is shaking hands 
with your backbone?" 

"Yeah, something like that." 

When we got to Kentucky Fried, I sat at 
one of the tables and Dell went up to order. 
He cam; back with two two-piece dinners and 
drinks. I was eating mine when I noticed 
Dill was staring at me. I looked at him 

"Your approach is all wrong," he said. 
'You sat like a white girl, and a snobbish 
one at that.' 1 

I lust stored at him. 

"Why are you cutting your chicken leg? 
Mdn't anybody ever t.^11 you that this 

person whether I wear jeans or a 

"I guess you got me there," said 

"Well, the point is," I continued, 
"I'm not going to dress to please 'v -vy - 
body else. I'm going to please me. 
If I'm happy with my speech and ■ is, 
then I expect my friends to accept this." 

. "I can hang with that," ht said 

I stuck out mv hand for a soul 
handshake, then linking arms, we walk- 
ed into the cafeteria. 



Judy Belfield 

Jerry Keir 



A heartboom on the prairie 
far from the cement of city 
far from voices or touch/ 
ir tall grasses — 
rippling waves 
in summer gusts — 
a thumping cadence 
pumps out life 
under a blue platter sky 
like the last buffalo dying 
in clover gone to seed. 
The rhythm slo~'s 
. as late afternoon 
turns purple in the clouds 
and if I listen 
while days eat up days 
a single echo 

will tremble through the earth 
and sound the hour . . . 

I will raise my eyes 
and whisper a prayer 
for the passing of all my fathers. 

Judy Belfield 


Dark desire 

eating itself 

to stay alive; 

nurture and ravage 

in every bite 

flourish and waste 

in identical de a;rees. 

Born from its own decay 

issire wriggles 

— a spemcell 

erupted from a dead testicle 

drops like an ova 

though a withered vomb — 

only to be consumed 

by its own teeth 

like a snake's tail 

in its own mouth 

rolling in a hoop 

forward and back" 


and I do not know 



it ends. 

Sandy Curtis 


Now I sit me down to cram 
For tomorrow' s big exam 
Alibis week j rea iiy tried 

to crack my books and look inside. 
But I took a different route 
Now I wish I hadn't gone out. 
I pray dear Lord you will avail 

I'm an addict of sorts 

a strange addict of emotions 

I gather them, 

and I seed them 

I love to thrive on them 

while they grow. 

I'm an addict to my feelings 
gripped by wholesome fears 
feverish loves and bindings 
and thoughts that arouse 
my inner cowardice. 

I love to touch my emotions 

grasp them by the hand 

I hold them, 

live them 

The mind is such a strange land 

Kiss them: 

your passions 

your perversions 

hates and fears 

your incredible lust to die 

your insatiable love of life. 

My feelings are my prize 

they thrill me 

even in tear-stained controversy 

the envies and immoralities 

perfect dreams 

and blue-eyed love so true 

All make me run to 

the tip of the world 

so warm, alive and new 

and new, and new 

and new. 

Terry Rogers 


Eat the mist 

Smother the frost 

Pull the mountains up 

Kiss the wind. 

( Hey Swe et he art ) 

Lay in the vallies 

Spray every window 

Grace every wood 

Dazzle every cell 

(Frankly dear, I don't give 

Set yourself down 

Make way for brother moon 
Wear briefly your coat 

Come back shortly. 

(We've lost him doctor. ) 


omn . ) 

Cause I can't 


to fail. 



Jerry Keir 

Donna Shibovich 



In the park 
resting on a bench, 
a yellow child 

eats the hair of her mother's arm 
in long strands 
and affectionate clumps 
but stops c&d. .stares 

at lovers smbracing 
who smile back. 

In the park 

near the broken statue 
pompous pigeons 
stir about in vague figures 
as the statue looks on, 
Amidst the golden leaves 

a harried squirrel 
x harbors Fall 

in subtle piles 

In the park 

behind the autumn breeze 
yea might find 

a slouching figure 
leaning against a bare ^ T ^" 
silently casting 
fall shadows 
that look 

like me. 


Jerry Keir 



by a satin tie, 


fades a Blue Chip 

tp a suicidal grey. 



Jerry Keir 


Looking up 

at prime time images 

catching a fading joke 

bland laughter 

from nameless faces* 

haunting laughs 


in th; cobwebbed 


of my mind. 

Listening to them, my parents. 

One cowboy, one Indian 

talking in the other room 

Howdy and How trying for peace 

What a -wonderful sound 

I squaw, I cowgirl 

In my room wondering 

Thinking as to whether 

I should go out 

and risk interrupting 

such a beautiful thing 

Should I risk having to deal 

with the overwhelming way I feel 

when I do not need 

my gun or my arrow . . . 


Judy Belfield 


In the distance 

a Doppler-effect engine f^ded, 

the sound tunneling into silence, 

blue light shifted 

to receding red — 

she wondered if Einstein knew 

the aesthetic properties of red: 

warm, aggresive 

not melting into a transparent blur 

of horizon white 

she wondered just long enough 

to miss the final winking of time 

as it sealed another year's concreti 

from air, water -- 
all the harmful elements 
necessary for life. 


Kevin Duncan 


The corpses of autumn 

fall on the 

damp soil 

Only the old 

see the fall 

some will not be frightened 

that we stop 

in order 

to begin 

again .